


Fresh Mountain Air For A Not So Fresh Beginning

by candy_and_writing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Oral Sex, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22476067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candy_and_writing/pseuds/candy_and_writing
Summary: After a mission went horribly wrong, and resulted in you getting hurt and suffering from major PTSD and anxiety, your boys move you to the mountains to heal.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	Fresh Mountain Air For A Not So Fresh Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated, thank you so much to the people who left kind words on my previous stories, you don't know how much they mean to me!!!

Steve sat on the balcony, hot mug of coffee in hand as he watched Bucky raise the axe and bring it down, chopping the wood into two. The weather was supposed to get bad this week, so he made sure everyone was doing their chores now in case they lost power. You were sitting on the couch, humming along to the radio as you finished folding the laundry. Steve had gone into town for groceries earlier this morning and did the dishes, and Bucky was chopping firewood. You were pretty high up in the mountains, so the forecast wasn't clear on exactly how bad it was supposed to be. If you had to go a few days without running the dishwasher, it would be alright.

Steve came back inside, shutting the screen door behind him. He set his coffee down on the dining table before taking his coat off, moving to hang it up by the door.

"Hey," you said, folding one of Bucky's shirts in your lap. "Buck almost done?"

"He should be, he's got enough wood to keep us warm all winter."

You stopped, a pair of boxers in hand as you looked out the window. "If he doesn't come in soon, you might have to go get him. It looks like the wind's starting to pick up."

Steve nodded, setting his mug in the sink. He'd wait for Bucky to get in and have his coffee before he washed it.

The door that led to the garage opened, Bucky bumping it closed with his backside. He struggled to toe off his shoes, a string of curses leaving his mouth. His arms were full of chopped firewood, his nose and cheeks rosy from the cold. His recent haircut was hidden underneath a woven cap, keeping his ears warm. He was wearing the heavy wool flannel jacket you liked to steal from time to time when you were cold.

"Hey, doll," he greeted, piling the wood on the rack by the fireplace. Steve was right, he chopped enough wood to keep you warm all winter. "How's laundry goin'?"

"I'm almost done," you replied, a warm smile on your face. "If you want me to wash those, though—" you gestured to his clothing, "—you should change. I think I could manage to scrape together another load with the clothes from last night and this morning."

Bucky shrugged. "They're fine, sweetheart, don't worry about it."

Steve asked where Bucky had put the rest of the firewood, he responded with, "out in the garage. Figured it'd stay dry there."

You finished folding the laundry as Bucky warmed up with a cup of coffee, talking to Steve about the impending storm. When he finished his coffee, black with a little bit of sugar, Bucky and Steve met you in the bedroom to help put the clothes away. Bucky put things in drawers, and Steve handed you clothing to hang on hangers. That was what you always did, it was your routine. It worked. And when Buck was done putting the folded clothing away, he helped between handing Steve empty hangers and handing you the hangers that had clothes on them.

It was moments like these that made you forget the reason you moved up here. That made Steve retire early and made Bucky available only for short and sweet missions. The reason you had nightmares and woke up screaming each night, and your boys would struggle to comfort you because you were so stuck in your own head it became difficult to tell what was real.

It would be six months tomorrow, if the calendar was correct. It wasn't marked or anything, but it was easy enough to count down the days, the weeks, when they've been so blatantly haunting you. Like Steve said, one day at a time, and you counted every single day, waiting for it not to hurt anymore.

You had been on a mission with Bucky. Steve was with Sam in a small Siberian town while you two were in Turkey. It was hot and bright and it was sweaty. It's one of the reasons you moved to the mountains, to avoid the heat.

You had been checking out some old HYDRA intel. Bucky thought it was probably nothing, but you needed to be safe rather than sorry. It wasn't a big deal.

It wasn't _supposed_ to be a big deal.

You and Bucky had split up. He took the upper levels and you took the lower ones. You had made it to the basement, so far finding nothing but empty file cabinets, too large of spiders, and outdated technology. Bucky had been sure to tell you to make sure and check that none of the computers worked.

You remembered calling Bucky through your comms. He said he hadn't found anything, and you were about to say the same. You had barely taken two steps into the room when you heard something shift behind you. Before you could turn around there was a sharp pinch in your neck and you winced, stumbling. Your vision became cloudy and your head spinny and you fell over before you even realized it.

When you awoke, Bucky was chained to the wall. You were chained down in the middle of the floor, your uniform gone. You—

"Y/n? Sweetie, you with us?" Bucky's voice dragged you from your thoughts. Steve was looking at you, a hand reached out and eyes full of worry. Bucky wore the same expression.

"Yeah," you smiled. "Sorry, I just blanked for a second. What were you saying?"

Steve continued to look at you with his worrying gaze. You just smiled at him, hopefully convincing him you were fine.

"I'm trying to convince Steve we need a dog," Bucky said. " _We_ talked about it, but Steve still has a stick up his ass."

"I don't have a stick up my ass," Steve argued. You huffed out a laugh. "If we get a dog, we'll have to build a fence. And in moments like this when the weather is bad, we'll have a hard time taking care of it. We've had this discussion, Buck."

"So we invest in a therapy dog, those are a thing, right? It'd be trained, and we can have it to help Y/n. Or myself, Lord knows I need a dog sometimes."

Steve sighed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

Bucky smiled. "I'd be willing to negotiate a cat?"

Steve looked over to you. You just smiled and shrugged. You both knew he wasn't winning this argument.

"We'll look into it after the storm," Steve sighed, defeated.

A smile broke onto your face, Bucky following. "Maybe Pepper can find some shelters?" you suggested.

"Yeah, I'll talk to her."

You kissed his cheek. Bucky pulled him in for a kiss, grabbing your hand and pulling you back into them. He kissed your head, Steve hugging you.

"I want a golden retriever," Steve demanded. You laughed.

"Deal."

••••

You lost power by eight o'clock that night. The wind was howling outside your windows, the blizzard knocking against the glass. You were eating ice cream and drinking the bottle of wine Steve had bought for date night when the TV shut down and the lights turned off all at once.

Steve had lit as many candles as he could while Bucky gathered your collection of many blankets. You sat on the floor, wine in hand and wrapped in a knitted blue throw while playing a game of Monopoly.

"That's bullshit!" Bucky shouted, throwing his hands up. "That's the fourth time I've landed on this stupid thing. Y/n, baby, please, you gotta help me out here."

You giggled. "I'm not trading this property with you, Buck. Not unless you give me an offer."

"Come on," Bucky whined, "work with me, baby."

Your eyes widened as your mind flashed back to that night, back to the basement. _Come on, baby, work with me_. You felt his hands on you, his fingers creeping up your skin. Bucky watched the color drain from your face, tears prickling at your eyes.

"Doll?" When you didn't respond, Steve realized what was happening.

"Shit, Buck, she's having a flashback." Steve stood, swiftly tucking his arm under your knees and picking you up.

 _It'll feel real nice, baby, just relax_.

"I'll put her playlist on, can I do anything else?"

Steve was careful to set you on the bed, still cradling you and wiping the tears from your cheeks. Even in the dim lighting of the candles, he could see the fear in your eyes. "Warm a kettle over the fire, we can make her some hot chocolate."

Bucky nodded before rushing out of the room. You were shaking now, struggling to catch your breath.

"It's alright, baby, it's okay," Steve cooed. "You're safe, you're home. No one can hurt you, you're safe." He gave you a quick squeeze, his arms tightening around you.

He went through the list your therapist gave them back at the compound. Soft music, check. Dark room, check. Tight hug or pressure from Steve or Bucky, check. The weighted blanket was under the bed, he could have Bucky grab it if you wanted it.

_Get her to open up, don't let her close herself off._

"Sweetie, I need you to talk to me," Steve uttered. "I can help get you through this, you just need to talk to me, to us."

You took a couple shaky breaths, opening your mouth before closing it again.

"The. . . the basement—I—and. . . and Bucky—"

"Buck is just fine, sweetheart," Steve answered, smiling slightly. "He's making you some hot chocolate."

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and watery. "He is?"

"Yeah, he should be in any minute."

You mouthed a silent 'oh' and curled back into Steve's chest. Bucky stepped in the bedroom quietly, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. He handed the black and gold star-spangled mug to Steve—it was your favorite, you claimed it reminded you of both your boys. Your hands shook as you took the mug from Steve, your grip lax and careful as you took a small sip. You mumbled a small thank you and looked at Bucky, who gave you a sad, small smile.

"Keep talking, sweetheart," Steve whispered into your hair. "Can you tell me five things you see around you?"

He heard you swallow, gathering your voice, and you started looking at the room around you. 

"I, um—I see Bucky," you said, your voice unsure. "I can see your shirt. . . the painting you made for me for my birthday, the wall, and the lamp."

"Good," Steve praised, "that's good. Tell me four things you can touch around you?"

You took another sip of the hot chocolate, the hint of cinnamon leaving a ghost of a smile on your face. "I'm touching my favorite mug, the one Bucky got me for Christmas last year. I'm touching the bedsheets. . . I'm touching you and your shirt by leaning on you, and if I reached I could touch Bucky."

Bucky reached out and took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along the skin below your knuckles. You sighed, relishing in his touch. He asked you to name three things you could hear, Steve kissing your temples.

"I can hear your voice, I can hear Steve's heartbeat, and. . . and I can hear the wind outside."

"You're doing so good, doll, we're almost done. Name two things you can smell?"

You thought for a moment, inhaling to smell your surroundings. "I can smell. . . the hot chocolate you made me, with the cinnamon in it. And. . . I can smell Steve's cologne."

"One thing you can taste?"

The hot chocolate, you replied. Steve smiled and kissed your forehead, hugging you as Bucky squeezed your hand.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," you sighed. You clenched and unclenched your hand, your nerves tightening after the anxiety started to fall. Your head ached, your brain pounding at your temples. "I'm sorry I. . . freaked out."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, sweetheart," Bucky said. "We just want to make sure you're alright." You nodded, closing your eyes as you focused on Steve's heartbeat jumping steadily through his sweater.

"Can you tell us what caused this?" Steve asked. You were silent for a long moment, thinking back. You weren't quite sure yourself—one second you were drinking wine in the living room with Bucky and Steve, and the next you were in bed, clutching onto Steve because you couldn't breathe.

"I think—I think Bucky said something," you said. "Something that. . . that _he_ had said and it just—it made me spiral."

"I'm so sorry, doll," Bucky said, kissing your knuckles as he looked at you apologetically.

"What did he say?" Steve asked.

You shook your head. "I don't know." You pushed your mug into Steve's hands, and he set in on the nightstand by the side of the bed. Your hands covered your face as you stifled a sob.

"Come here, sweetheart." Steve's heart broke as he hugged you closer to his chest. Bucky crawled over to the empty space on the bed next to you and rested his hand on your stomach, kissing your head. "Talk to us."

"I thought I could get past this," you told them, crying. "I—I can still feel him, I can still feel his hands on me and I don't know how to get it to stop!"

Steve looked over to Bucky, who looked back at him sadly. It was hard, seeing their best girl like this, and they were never quite sure how to help you. You didn't like them touching you a certain way after you were attacked, but maybe—just maybe—that was what you needed.

"How 'bout Stevie and I try something different tonight?" Bucky said, running his hand up and down your arm. 

"Like what?" you sniffled.

"We know you haven't wanted us to touch you since. . . you know, but do you think that would help?" Steve asked, looking down at you. "You keep feeling him on you, maybe we can help wipe him away? We're willing to wait as long as you need us to, baby, we just want to help you."

"I—I don't know."

"Are you willing to try?" Bucky whispered against your temple. "If you don't like it, tell us and we'll stop. Is that okay?"

You thought for a moment, nodding carefully. Steve placed a chaste kiss on your neck, inhaling your scent.

"Are you sure? We don't want to pressure you—if you don't feel comfortable doing this, we won't."

You shook your head. "I want to try. I want to see if I can do it. . . please."

More than anything, you wanted to please your boys. You wanted them to be happy and proud of you, you craved their appraisal like an addict craved pills. You weren't sure this was going to work, but you wanted to try, you'd try anything just to be able to feel Steve and Bucky touch you again.

Steve placed his hands under your arms, lifting you and shifting you so you sat in between his legs. Bucky crawled so he kneeled over you, and suddenly you were trapped. But that was okay, you were safe. You were with the two people you trusted the most, and you trusted they'd take care of you.

Bucky cupped your cheek with his hand, bringing you in for a soft kiss. Your shoulders relaxed as you leaned into his touch, Steve trailing kisses down your neck. You hesitantly moved your lips against Bucky's, placing your hands on his face and bringing him closer to you. You let out a whimper as Bucky licked your lips, asking for access. You allowed it, opening your mouth and letting his tongue roam with yours. He pushed you against Steve's chest, your back collided with solid muscle, Steve's hands trailing up under your sweater. You shuddered at the warmth, at the ghost-like touches he left in his wake as Bucky buried his hands through your hair.

It was almost too much, their touches, the way they were everywhere all at once. Their touch burned, but in a good way, almost. You didn't want them to stop. If they stopped now, you were certain you'd combust.

"Can I take this off?" Steve husked against your ear, tugging at your sweater. You nodded, and he was quick to pull it over your head, leaving you in your push-up bra.

Steve bit back a groan, nibbling on your ear as Bucky trailed sloppy kisses down your jaw. You whined out a moan, Steve grabbing at your breasts. A spark of panic shot through you and your eyes shot open. You pulled away from Steve, pushing Bucky away.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart," Steve cooed, reaching out to grab your arm. "It's okay. You're okay, baby. It's just me."

Your chest fell and rose heavily. Bucky cupped your cheek, kissing your nose. "It's just us, doll. You're safe. . . . Do we need to stop?"

You looked up at him. You didn't want to stop, you wanted to enjoy them, you wanted to make then feel good. But this damn sense of panic wasn't going away.

"I want to keep going," you told them, eyes watery. "I want to make you feel good, I _want_ to feel good. I just. . . can't stop this."

"Just relax, baby," Bucky muttered. "Focus on us. On our touch. Know that it's us and just focus on how good we'll make you feel."

You nodded, leaning back against Steve's chest. You told him he could touch you again, guiding his hands to your chest. He added the slightest pressure and squeezed, your breasts in his hands as you shuddered out a breath.

" _Oh_."

"That feel good, baby?" Steve asked, kissing your neck as Bucky attacked the other side. You nodded, sighing as you melted into his touch. "I bet it does, sweetheart. I can't imagine how you feel, not being able to let us make you feel good. We're here now, we're gonna take real good care of you."

"I love you," you sighed, digging your nails into Bucky's hair. "Both of you."

"We love you too, doll." Bucky kissed down your collar bone, his lips at the edge of your bra. Steve reached and unclipped your bra, letting it slide down your shoulders. Bucky was quick to dispose of it, throwing it to the floor. "You're so beautiful, baby."

You cried out Bucky's name as his lips latched onto your nipple, Steve rolling the other one between his fingertips. You focused on your boys, on the sensation of Bucky—of his tongue swirling against your hardened bud, of his hand cupping your cheek, of his hand in your hair. You focused on Steve—on his hands, on the solid muscle behind your back, of the feeling of his hair in your fingers.

Bucky's hand fell to your pants. "Can I take these off, baby?"

You nodded, afraid to use your voice. He unbuckled your jeans, slowly sliding them down your legs, off your feet. You had on cheeky lace underwear. Suddenly, you thought back to when you used to wear much less conservative underwear. Steve and Bucky always liked those—your decorative thongs, your favorite pair used to be lace with flowers. You got rid of them after you were attacked, but maybe you could get some new, less casual ones.

Bucky licked his lips, staring at your clothed core. Steve's hands kneaded at your breasts, thumb brushing over your nipple as he kissed a line on your shoulder. Bucky was quick to pull at your underwear, leaving you completely exposed.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Steve asked quietly. You nodded, keeping eyes on Bucky.

Bucky looked up at you, eyes dark. The flickering flame casted a reflection upon his face, giving him a goldish glow. The wind howled outside, ice hitting the window. Normally, that sound would've had you jumping three feet into the air in terror, but now you couldn't care less—too caught up in the way Bucky's eyes darkened as he asked for permission. When you nodded, he slid down, laying on his stomach, and dove in.

You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have Bucky's tongue wrapped around your clit. You moaned as he licked up in a broad swipe, focusing the tip of his tongue on your bud. Steve massaged your chest, tweaking your nipples and running over them with the pads of his fingers.

"Oh, God. . ." you whined. "Keep going, please. Don't—don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess," Steve moaned.

Bucky continued to work his mouth on you until you were burning, writhing and struggling in both his and Steve's grasps. You were sure you were going to explode. When Bucky entered a finger into you, you cried out. It wasn't enough. You needed more.

"How's that feel, baby?" Steve cooed, hands focusing on your breasts. "Buck doin' good?"

You nodded frantically. Steve chuckled in your ear, voice gravelly and low.

"Buck here almost couldn't wait any longer, all we wanted to do was get his mouth on you, sweetheart. It's what he dreamed about when he touched himself, when he sucked me off. He's been waiting for this."

Bucky hummed into your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit. He was careful as he pushed a second finger into you, looking for the spot inside you that could shatter you. That coil inside you was tight, threatening to explode and send you over the edge. You began to babble, endless pleas of 'don't stop,' and 'Bucky, please.'

He pushed the pads of his fingers up, still teasing your bundle of nerves and that was all it took. You cried out, the coil snapping like a taught rubber band and you grinded back into Steve as you tried to pull away, overstimulated. Steve shushed you, whispering in your ear as Bucky rode you from your high until it was simply too much. You whined, your voice cracking, and Bucky seemed to get the message. He pulled away, his chin slick with your juices. Still blissed out, he hooked his finger under your chin, bringing you in for a sloppy kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and tangy.

You didn't realize you were crying until Bucky wiped away a tear. "You okay, doll?"

You nodded. "Yeah. . . yeah, I just—I hadn't realized how much I missed this. I'm sorry I made you wait on me."

"You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart," Steve said, kissing your cheek. "We'd wait as long as you needed us to."

You sat up, turning so you straddled Steve's lap. You hung your arms over his shoulders, brushing your noses together.

"Can you do something for me?" you asked, your voice low and sultry in post-orgasmic bliss.

"Anything," Steve answered, ask too quickly.

"I want you to fuck me. I want you to erase any memory of that man inside of me. Can you do that?"

"Happily."

He kissed you then, loving and dominant and so incredibly _Steve_. Bucky kissed up your neck, sucking a deep red spot next to the many Steve had left. You whimpered into Steve's lips, dragging your hands up his shirt. He pulled away for a second, discarding his shirt and sitting up on his knees, shimmying off his pants. He turned you around before settling back down, having you straddle his thighs.

"You sure you're up for this, baby?" Bucky asked, kissing behind your ear as his fingers danced around your nipples.

You nodded, whining. "I—I can do it."

Steve hummed, feeling himself brush against your folds. Bucky gave you his signature dorky smile, which you returned as best you could. Steve eased into you slowly, both men watching for any sign of discomfort. You were wet enough, but you were still awfully tight. Tighter than usual. Even after your orgasm, Steve was having a hard time fitting himself inside you.

The three of you haven't had sex since before the attack. Bucky and Steve had quick shower sex in the morning sometimes after a run, when they were sure you were still asleep, but they didn't like doing it without you. You were apart of them, doing such an intimate act without you didn't feel right.

Steve groaned at the feeling, the silky heat of you clutching him like a vice. He grunted, wrapping an arm around your front and hugging you close to his chest, carefully rocking his hips up. His thrusts start out slow and deep, until you're writhing and mewling for more.

Bucky crawls up and straddles both you and Steve, his tongue curling around your nipple. He wraps his tongue around your bud, sucking lightly. You let out a whimper, moaning as Steve speeds his pace up, pounding into you in the most delicious way. Bucky guides your hand and wraps it around his cock, moving it up and down in long, slow strokes. You withdrew your hand like he had burned you, your eyes wide. Steve stills inside you, watching your back muscles tense.

"It's okay, doll, it's just me. . . . Do we need to stop?"

You blinked. "No, no—I'm okay. I'm sorry."

"Are you sure?"

You nodded. "Please, I want to keep going, I can do this." You reached out and grabbed for his length, your nimble fingers wrapping around him.

_It's just Bucky, he won't hurt you. You're safe here._

Quickly, you fall into the rhythm Steve has set, your other hand moving to clutch Bucky's shoulder as he fucks into your hand.

It's easy, the three of you moving in tandem. You don't know how long it's been, how long either of them have touched you like this, or when you last touched them. You feel guilty now, forgetting something that made you feel so good.

" _Steve_ ," you moan. "Bucky, please."

"You're doing so good, baby," Bucky praised. "You—ah, fuck—you feel so good."

You whined, Steve picking up his pace. You weren't going to last much longer, not with Steve pounding into you the way he is, not with him groaning in your ear and not with Bucky using your hand to get himself off.

"Can I come inside, baby?" Steve moans. "Fill you up, wash out every memory of that day. Fuck—we're gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart, all you have to do is let us."

"Yes," you nodded frantically. "Yes, please, _please_. I need you. Come inside, please, Stevie."

Bucky reached down and rubbed at your clit, sending you over the edge. You screamed, seizing up and convulsing around Steve's cock. Steve cursed, feeling you pulsate around him. He came with a grunt, coating your walls with his cum. Bucky finished soon after, covering your stomach with his cum.

You released Bucky, falling back against Steve in exhaustion. When you opened your eyes again, Steve was petting your hair while Bucky cleaned up his mess with a wet washcloth. Steve whispered sweet nothings in your ear, running his fingers through your sweat soaked locks.

_I'm so proud of you._

_You did so good._

_So perfect for us._

_We love you_.

After Bucky tossed the cloth in the wicker laundry basket, he laid down in the space next to you, hugging you close to his chest. Your hand rested across Steve's pecs, your head above his heartbeat.

"You did so well, sweetheart," Bucky purred, tracing circles along your back. "How do you feel?"

"Good," you hummed, snuggling closer to Steve's warmth. "Real good."

"That's amazing, baby," Steve murmured. "Did it help any?"

You nodded. It helped a lot, actually. The throbbing between your legs was welcoming, euphoria coursing through veins. You hated yourself for connecting your boys with the kind of hate you experienced, for making them wait so long.

"Let's go to sleep, doll." Bucky kissed your shoulder. "We can talk more in the morning, if we have power I'll make some waffles."

You hummed in content, sleep overtaking you. Bucky wrapped an arm around your middle, with Steve wrapping his arm behind you both.

"I love you."


End file.
